


The Witch of Cedar Plains

by SocialDisease609



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F, Witchcraft, Witches, clarke is a witch, clexa au, clexa colonial au, clexa witch au, its more cute than dark in my opinion, lexa makes a deal with witch clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9560288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialDisease609/pseuds/SocialDisease609
Summary: After all the adult men in her family leave to fight in the Revolutionary War, Lexa struggles with keeping the family farm alive. Desperate to not lose her lands and end up on the streets, she makes a deal with the witch in the forest.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have so many projects to complete (and a request to start), but damn it I can't help myself when an idea strikes. Besides, I was having trouble wanting to write these past couple of days, and I think a quick story is what I need to get the right juices flowing again lol.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Lexa and her clan had immigrated to the colonies, along with many hopeful immigrants of the 18th Century to escape King George’s tyranny. They spent years cultivating fields of maize and beans in the wooded land of New Jersey. When the great revolution sparked, her family struggled, as all the men answered Washington’s call to battle, leaving Lexa to provide for the children and feeble elderly of her clan. It was said that many women turned to wearing red dresses during the war to provide for themselves, but Lexa did so by turning to hunting. The game she brought home gave her relatives much strength, as they began to use bones and marrow in their stews and drying pieces of meat to jerky. The pelts from the animals served as adequate preparation for the winter, but that still did not answer the problem of lack of farm hands.

            Lexa tried to involve the children into tending to the crops, trying to make it feel like a game to them, but she did not want to exploit them, and only let them work for short periods of time. The fields began to wilt, and Lexa’s heart was troubled at the lose of her family’s agricultural legacy her in the Americas. It didn’t help that she had received a letter from the militia that her father had been killed in battle, no word on her uncles and brothers. Without the revenue from the farm, she soon would not have enough money to continue paying for her land, and then the family would be homeless.

            Falling to a brief moment of hopelessness, Lexa had taken a walk to the village tavern. There at the bar, she hunched over her pint of stale beer, focusing on the sounds of the fiddle and flute behind her.

            “How’s the farm, Ms. Alexandra?” asked the owner as he polished a mug. Titus was his name, and he always seemed overly concerned about her personal business.

            “It’s going how it was last week,” Lexa grumbled, not bothering to look at him.

            “Why don’t you think about taking up a husband to save your land? The whole town knows there are a decent amount of men willing to be your suitor, despite your un-lady-like moments...”

            Lexa scoffed, “How many times do I have to tell you? The farm will stay in my family’s name and ownership. No one is taking my farm. Or _any_ part of my land.”

            “But Ms. Lexa, your lands are wilting without the proper labor force. Surely a husband would be able to bring his family money into yours to help hire hands.”

            “I’ll figure something out.” Lexa grumbled once more, taking a deep swig of her bitter brew.

            “Go see the witch,” rasped the voice of the individual who sat beside her at the bar.

            “Excuse me?” Lexa asked, her sour aura still taking hold of her.

            It was a young man who had said the words, which surprised Lexa given his voice.

            “The witch. Deep in the woods of Cedar Plains.” He continued, pulling the lapels of his green coat closer to him, even though the tavern was quite warm. “A year ago, when I used to live in Boston, I was being blackmailed by my business partner who had found out that I was romantically involved with a colored woman. He said that if I did not always do all his share of work he would tell the governor of my ‘sinful’ relationship and have my love, Raven, hanged at the gallows. I traveled far down south to New Jersey to find the acclaimed witch, who I had learned of from another. I asked her to silence my business partner, so that I could save my sweetheart from our prejudiced town. And she did.”

            Lexa raised her eyebrow as she heard his story, listening to each croak his throat made.

            “Do not bring such dark folklore into my establishment, Mr. Collins,” Titus hissed.

            “Why is your voice so weak?” Lexa asked, intrigued by her intuition.   

            The young Mr. Collins had turned more solemn than before, answering, “When it comes to witchcraft, there is always a catch. You must pay a witch in something she can use for her master-”

            “Finn Collins!” Bellowed Titus, slamming the mug he was cleaning on the bar counter. “Do not bring such talk of the devil and his black works into this tavern! Get out, now!” The whole tavern went silent as all occupants watched the scene at the bar. Hesitantly, Finn got up from his seat, maintaining cautious eye-contact with Lexa, whose eyes had followed him leaving through the door.

            “Don’t let his talk disturb you, Ms. Lexa, he should have known better not to bring up such a topic to a lady,” began Titus.

            “Here’s my copper,” Lexa blurted, slamming the metallic coin on the wooden bar. She ran out the door, leaving Titus baffled and disappointed at his station.

            As soon as she pushed the door open to allow herself outside, the crisp fall air rushed passed her face. She turned her head left and right, looking down the dirt roads of the quaint town for the figure of Finn Collins. The day was bleak and grey, but down the eastern path, Lexa could make out the hue of a green coat. She took down the road briskly, catching up with him in a matter of seconds.

            “Mr. Collins,” she said, a little breathy. “Please continue your story. Tell me about the witch. How do I pay her?”

            Finn stopped in his tracks and shuffled his feet, as if second-guessing sharing this information. “She does not take gold. She never takes gold. You must go and find out what she will take from you.”

            “And what did she take from you?” Lexa asked.

            “My voice…”

            “She took your voice?” Lexa questioned with a chuckle of disbelief. Here she was, coming close to asking help from a witch, but couldn’t completely believe in magic still.

            “When I asked to silence my business partner, she had him killed. Horrifically. I almost regretted coming for her help. I would not have wished that kind of death on anybody… but with my payment… she had a sense of humor. She thought it was only fitting to literally silence me.”

            “And you speak today now because?”

            “Because she must have known I was going to speak to you.”

            Lexa chuckled more. She felt like seeing this witch just out of curiosity now instead of needing help. “She _knew_?”

            “Not about you specifically. I can’t say. I am not allowed. You must see her. I have fulfilled my bargain. I am free of her…”

            A feeling of ominousness bled into Lexa’s soul. Finn was definitely building this witch up.

            “Free?”

            “Every soul she helps is a soul she owns, until they bring another to take their place…” he whispered.

“What?” Lexa continued her questioning barrage, not picking up a single word he had just muttered.

“Go see her. Cedar Plains. Just keep walking, you’ll find her when you stop looking…” He turned away from Lexa and began to walk quickly down the road once more.

 

 

            Lexa had gone home soon after that and dressed in her best hunter’s outfit, a pistol and a pouch of power and one of bullets, a hatchet, and a knapsack of dried goods, including a canteen of water. She intended on making the trip to find the witch. If not for her crops, at least to satiate her curiosity. Mounting the best steed in the stables, a grey creature in his prime, she set off into the woods.

            She galloped furiously into the wooded lands, seeing an endless sea of barren bark and twisted limbs of trees, dotted among a few evergreens. Soon her mind drifted off into memories of her family- more particularly her father and her uncles, taking their muskets and a carriage to sign up at the nearest military camp. They had left her in charge to tend the farm. They said they would only serve for a year. It had been three years ago today…

            And then, in front of her, she saw a log cabin, which brought her pulling her horse’s reins to a halting stop. She dismounted and tied her steed to one of the many nearby trees.

            Cautiously, she approached the cabin.

            “Hello?” she asked, as she pushed the heavy door open.

            “Some people knock as well,” came a voice that sent Lexa jumping in her boots. Looking around the cabin, which was heavily decorated with branches and bushels of herbs, animal tales, and miscellaneous cloths and chimes, Lexa saw a young blonde woman sitting at a table who was peeling an apple.

            “My apologies,” Lexa began, closing the door behind herself. “Are you the witch?”

            The blonde sighed, putting her carving knife down. “Are you looking for a witch?” Her voice had a powerful energy to it, deep and serious.

            “I was… I was told that there was a witch here who could help me…” Lexa didn’t know why she was getting shy all of a sudden.

            “And what do you need a witch’s help for?”

            “My crops, they are failing.”

            “Bad lands?”

            “Lack of help.”

            “And you can’t just hire workers?”

            “I have little coin left since all the men folk in my clan joined the war.”

            “I see. Come, sit at my table, dear guest.”

            Lexa did so, pulling her chair incredibly close to the table.

            “Would you like to stay for the evening?” The woman asked casually. “I was in the middle of carving apples for a pie I planned on baking tonight. Would you like to help?”

            “No thank you,” Lexa said quickly, yet immediately regretted her words. What if she just failed some test set by the witch? If she couldn’t help her with something simple, why would she help Lexa. “I- I mean, if you need help, I will be more than happy to assist you.”

            The woman smirked as she picked up her knife once more. “You have already declined, I will not have you help. I can be what you need me to be, Ms…?”

            “Lexa,” Lexa introduced hastily.

            The witch nodded, “My name is Clarke, but no one who asks for my services never bothers to call me anything but ‘witch’. It would give me great pleasure if you would call me by my name…”

            “Of course, Ms. Clarke. Thank you for letting me into your home.”

            “Well you did kind of just let yourself in… but please, just Clarke, as you will be just Lexa to me. But before I give you services, we must establish a sense of _loyalty_ between each other.”

            “What do you need from me?” Lexa asked, anticipating this as the beginning of their payment negotiations. Clarke had decided to place down her knife and dried her hands with a cloth.

            “Give me your hands,” Clarke said, outstretching her arms across the table. Lexa clasped their hands together in reciprocation.      

            “Finn told me that you need things to use for your master,” Lexa started curiously, “Do you have a master? Is he… is he-”

            “The devil?” Clarke interrupted, her face twisting with offense, “Who is to say I’m not my own master?”

            “Forgive me, I do not know much about your craft.”

            “Exactly, so keep it that way.”

            “I only wish to understand.”

            “You will only understand what I decide to share with you. We will determine what you must pay me soon, but first, before we start, you must understand a term I apply to all my _clients_. If you do not bring someone to my door, my master will kill you.”

            “I thought you said you were your own master?”

            “Do not interrupt me. If I help you, you must help someone else. Tell someone of my works, bring them to my door. Have them need for my services.” As Clarke spoke these words, Lexa immediately thought of Finn. It all made sense now how he spoke about freedom.

            “You took Finn’s voice away as payment for his contract. When he decided to tell me of you, you gave him his voice back… how did you know that he would talk to me?”

            “I will not share the entirety of my power to you, Lexa, if you wish to know the secrets of my reach, you must become like me. Is this what you wish?”

            “No,” Lexa blurted.

            “Tell me, Lexa,” Clarke spoke with a routine air, her eyes closing as she continued to hold onto Lexa’s hand. “What do you need me for?”

            “I wish for a bountiful harvest this year, and for my crops to remain fruitful until my men return from the war.”

            “It shall be granted. Know that if all your men die in battle, you will be forever indebted to me, do you understand? Is this a price you wish to pay? Eternal harvest?”

            Lexa hesitated at the last part, yet still replied, “Yes.”

            “By holding onto you, I have learned much about you, Lexa.” Clarke’s eyes were still closed as she spoke. “I have seen your childhood in England. I have seen your voyage across the sea to the Americas. Your adult life is studded with your grief of responsibility for the farm and your incapable family members. I can even see your lust for women-”

            Lexa retreated her hands, feeling violated and defensive. Clarke opened her eyes at her hands being empty.

            “What’s the matter?” the witch asked with a smirk. “I didn’t need magic to deduct that. You wear trousers.”

            “Trousers should not denote anything but utility, not … preference.”

            “I guess you have a point,” Clarke smiled. “Why does it bother you that I have seen this in you? You have denied offers of marriage countlessly, I have seen this. You don’t want a man, you want a woman.”

            “I can be hanged for such behaviors. People believe it is a sin.” Lexa said defensively. “I do not wish any to know. I would rather die an old maid than marry.”

            Clarke leaned back in her seat, contemplating this.

            “How bad do you want your crops to prosper?”

            “Depends on the price. I do have a limit.”

            “I will bless your fields. The price I offer you is this: it would amuse me to instigate a ‘sin’. Once a month, you must come to my cottage and give me a kiss, until your men return. It can be as simple as one on the cheek, if you wish.”

            “A kiss?” Lexa asked, cursing herself for blushing.

            “You must understand, it gets lonely out here. Even a witch needs a kiss or two. It’s been a while since I’ve been touched by a lover, and it’s quite a shame, really.”

            Lexa felt herself getting warm with embarrassment.

            “Do you accept my terms? A kiss every month until your men return, and to bring someone to my door.”

            “Is that it?”

            “That’s it,” the witch smiled.

            “I accept,” Lexa said.

            “Good,” Clarke said, “Give me your first kiss…”

            Lexa got up from her chair and excitedly made her way to Clarke, who was still lounging in her chair. Leaning down, the small cabin stark with silence, Lexa pressed her lips against the witch’s tenderly, expressing nothing but appreciation through the kiss. As she pulled away, she saw Clarke’s eyes open sheepishly. The two women gazed upon each other for a moment before a blush started to spread on the young witch’s face.

            “Go,” Clarke said all of a sudden, shooing Lexa with her hands. “Go back to your farm, I will prepare a spell tonight, don’t you worry. Just go to bed like normally tonight. Tomorrow, you will notice a change in your crops.”

            “Thank you,” Lexa said, a smile taking over her entire mouth. She saw herself out of the cabin, freed her horse, and headed home.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ending of the story.  
> Also, no matter what you see, keep going til the end, that's all I have to say lol
> 
> Trivia: so far, this is the longest word count I have ever had for just one chapter.

                Lexa had gone to sleep that night filled with hope. In the morning, she awoke and ran straight to her fields to tend to the soil. When she made it to her crops, she scooped up some of the earth and marveled at how dark, moist, and rich it was, in comparison to the dry and dusty grounds from the day before. She knew that the witch had kept her word and this was magic at work. Rejuvenated with care for her lands, Lexa worked day and night to aid them, not knowing just how far the witch’s power could go. It was two months until the harvest, and for each month leading up to it, Lexa held up part of her payment by going down to see Clarke to give her a kiss. It would be an understatement to say that Lexa was not becoming rapidly fond of the woman in the woods. The bleak journey through the barren aspen, birch, and evergreen trees was always worth it just for that simple kiss.

                When it came time for the harvest, two thoughts loomed over Lexa’s conscious. One, her men still had not returned home, nor was there news of their military endeavors, except that militia men from her town in general were to participate in plans for Trenton, but that project would not launch for at least a few more months. Word was General Washington would be there, and Lexa had hoped that her relatives would be fighting beside the iconic leader. However, the American forces were suffering terribly in New York, and many had retreated back to Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Perhaps soon the war would make it to Lexa’s doorstep. The second thought was that Lexa did not really have the opportunity to find someone to send to Clarke. Working on the farm had taken all of her time. Hoping that the witch would not be too impatient, Lexa decided a good way to buy more time would be to take some of her harvest down to her.

                She saddled up her horse with her typical provision for a trip, including her long rifle, yet supplied another horse with sacks of corn, pelts, and meats. She spurred off quite gently into the woods, traveling under a pale blue sky. She could hear all the dry pine needles, brittle brown leaves, and twigs crunching under her horse’s heavy hooves, even at this sauntering pace; one hand controlling her reigns, the other on those of the supply-horse. After a lengthy journey, she finally arrived at the mystic cabin.

                She tied up both beasts, walked over to the cabin, and walked right through.

                “I’ve given up on telling you to knock,” came Clarke’s voice. The witch was hanging up freshly washed stockings over her quaint fireplace.

                “You don’t have a spell for that?” Lexa tried to joke, but delivered it awkwardly.

                Clarke sighed, “Perhaps there is, but what would I do with my day if I was just lazy and did spells for absolutely everything. Magic wasn’t meant for chores; it exists for grander purposes.”

                “Of course, of course, pardon my humor,” Lexa asked, putting a hand on her chest in sincerity.

                “Have you brought me someone?” Clarke asked, going back to her wicker basket full of stockings, “the month has not expired, so I know you’re not here for my kiss.” Lexa had a feeling Clarke knew the answer.

                “… no, not yet, but I will soon.” Lexa started, her voice quiet. “I actually came to give you the fruits of _our_ labor, so to speak. I wanted you to have some of the harvest, in thanks. I felt it was only right.”

                “How kind,” Clarke said, straightening up and walking towards Lexa, who stood in the threshold. “Would you like to stay for dinner then?”

                “Absolutely,” Lexa replied beamingly.

                “Then, please, bring your goods inside.”

                Lexa didn’t have to be told twice. It seemed her tribute was enough to keep the witch’s unknown wrath at bay. She took her goods inside and placed the sacks on open spots of Clarke’s handcrafted wooden table.

                “Well let’s see them, then,” Clarke encouraged, drying her hands. Lexa pulled each sack up and gently spilled the contents onto the table. Fresh ears of corn rolled out of one, wrapped parcels of salted meats from another, and pelts, as noted earlier, from the third. Picking up an ear from the table, Clarke inspected it curiously. “I always like to see my work,” she said, as she placed the ear back on the table, “I really outdid myself.”

                “Thank you so much, yet again.” Lexa thanked humbly. “The harvest was more than I could have hoped for, everyone is buying our produce at the markets. You have saved my family.”

                “Like I said,” Clarke smiled in a business-like manner, “Magic exists for greater purposes.”

                It only took up to an hour for Clarke to boil up the corn, and other vegetables along with some pieces of Lexa’s meats, creating a hearty stew in a cooking pot. As Clarke tended to their meal over the fire, Lexa let herself get comfortable and look around. She toyed with many of Clarke’s herbs, asking the purpose for each one (something Clarke seemed pleased to educate about), and drew her finger down the spine of many ancient looking books in homemade bookshelves.

                “You must have a lot of time on your hands, up here in the woods by yourself,” Lexa began, striking up conversation. “Did you build the furniture here? Even the cabin itself?”

                “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous,” came Clarke’s voice as she stirred. “I travel. I bought this cabin off of a trapper who was going far west. He didn’t want to be around when the war arrived. The furniture came with it.”

                “Do you have family?” Lexa asked, wanting to learn as much as she could about this woman who had, quite frankly, bewitched her.

                Clarke paused for a moment before replying. “I did… my mother ran the Griffin Apothecary in a village close to Albany. I followed in her footsteps, and truth be told, the trade opened my curiosity to witchcraft. One day my mother was tending to a man with the pox. There was nothing she could really do for him. She requested a quarantine and have the man die for the sake of keeping the rest of the community safe. Needless to say, the man’s wife was not happy about it and conjured up a story about how my mother was a witch, and due to mass hysteria, the town officials believed it. She would have been executed if… if my father did not  ‘confess’ to witchcraft, saying it was never my mother. My father went to the gallows, and my mother, just to be sure, was kept in jail. She is to stay there for the rest of her days.”

                Lexa regretted asking the question, but the only way to make it better was to care for the topic, not to run away. “What happened to you?”

                “I became an orphan, as what happens to people without parents and without a spouse. I simply took all my parents books and left. As I traveled aimlessly, the only thing that really pushed me was this peculiar attraction to the craft. Along the way, I met many circles, and even learned from the many societies that ruled these lands before our European powers tried to make claims. This part of my life I wish to keep private, however, if you do not mind.”

                “Of course not,” Lexa offered courteously. “I uh… my family is pretty big, that’s why sometimes we’re referred to as a clan.” Lexa wanted to change the subject to something positive, and it was her turn to share, after all. “We had many men, but they’re off fighting, as you know, however, one is coming close to being a man. He is only twelve, but he is the best help I’ve had in my family since they all left. His name is Aden. In fact, he helped me harvest. Soon he’ll be old enough to take care of the farm and the estate, but that is still just a few more years away. He was so happy to see the farm do well. I think he wants to take on his adult responsibilities early. That’s how children are, though, always wanting to be older when they should be enjoying life.”

                Lexa heard Clarke place bowls down on the table and she turned around from snooping. Clarke was setting the table. “Let me help you, Clarke,” Lexa said, walking over. She pulled out a chair next to her. The witch looked at her curiously before taking the seat. Lexa finished setting the table, giving a much larger portion of the stew to Clarke, and then seated herself.

                The meal was enjoyed in silence. Lexa was a little concerned the Clarke wasn’t doing much to keep up a conversation, but she did not want to overwhelm the woman with her eagerness. When they had finished, Lexa made quick efforts to help clean up. Clarke did not protest, but she also still remained quiet.

                “Have I done something to upset you?” Lexa finally asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

                “No…” Clarke replied quietly, washing a bowl with a dishcloth. She kept her eyes focused on her actions rather than look Lexa in the face.

                “Why won’t you speak to me, then?” Lexa’s inquiry was not abrasive or demanding, it was delicate. She took a step closer to Clarke, whose back was turned to her.

                The witch sighed and placed down the dish and cloth. “I made a mistake with your payment,” she finally said.

                “What do you mean?”

                “I should not have requested what I did. I got ahead of myself and was impulsive, I should have been more practical.”

                Lexa did not reply, as she felt she still did not fully understand.

                “The whole point of the payment is so that you are hastened to serve me in return.”

                “Are you not satisfied? Please, let me make amends, ask me anything.” With this, Lexa found herself reaching for Clarke’s hand. She raised it to her lips and pressed a chaste kiss against it.

                Clarke watched before she continued. “You are in love with me.”

                “What?” Lexa asked, baffled, trying not to drop Clarke’s hand in the process.

                “I never meant for this to happen,” Clarke continued, her voice sincere and her eyes expressing pity.

                “I’m not in love with you,” Lexa replied, trying to be defensive, yet in her heart she felt pain at uttering those words.

                “Lexa,” the witch cooed, “You know I can see into you through touch, you cannot lie. You love me.”

                Lexa pursed her lips, just a little offended at having her mind read without her approval, yet did not fight the claim this time.

                “For what it’s worth, I did not cause your feelings through magic. What you feel, your own heart created.” Clarke reached a hand up to caress Lexa’s cheek. “Please, hurry and bring someone to me. I wish to not see you suffer like this.”

                “You don’t want to see me anymore?” Lexa asked. “Do you not feel anything for me?”

                Clarke’s face rushed into a shade of red, and she retreated her hand. “I- uh- it is not important what I feel. Trust me. You do not want a witch to love you.”

                “You can’t say that what you feel is not important. It doesn’t matter if you’re a witch or not. You’re still important.”

                Clarke would have spoken something in return, yet Lexa was possessed by her inability to control her heart. She raised her hand to cup Clarke’s cheek, similar to how Clarke had just touched her, and leaned in for a warm and pressing kiss. Clarke did not push away, so Lexa let herself live for once, and wrapped an arm around the witch’s waist, pulling her closer. The touch was brazen and drowning, and Lexa ignored the fact that this was the first time she had ever touched a woman. The curve of her hips was smooth and heavenly, and Lexa wanted to feel more. Gently removing her hand from Clarke’s face as they continued their soft kissing, she held onto Clarke’s upper ribcage, her thumb only an inch away from the witch’s breast.

                This closeness seemed to have shocked Clarke, as she pulled away quickly, a look of offended disbelief on her face.

                “No, what did I tell you?” she muttered, wiping her lips with a handkerchief. “You cannot fall in love with me!”

                “Why not?” Lexa asked, this time completely hurt. Her heart had never stung the way it did now.

                “Just get out.”

                “But Clarke-”

                “Get out! Get out and never come back until you bring someone to my door. I am collecting now. Bring someone to my door before the end of the month, or I will have you killed!”

                With tears brimming in her eyes, Lexa fought no more and turned quickly out of the cabin and untied her horses. She mounted one and spurred off emotionally, expecting the other to find its way home, she did not care.

                Her heart was breaking, collapsing under a storm of anger and unrequited love. But she was still a fool, under the spell of her own heart. She wanted to keep trying. She wanted to go back to Clarke. She could not help herself. And she knew what she had to do to get to see the witch again. So she went from tavern to tavern, dock to dock, telling any wayward soul of the witch who could solve all their problems. Everyone she approached seemed ambivalent, and it filled Lexa with silent rage.

                It had been two weeks since Clarke banished her, and having had run out of places to visit, Lexa sat in her family manor pondering away on nothing. She needed a break. Her heart couldn’t take it anymore and she was about to give up, imagining the different kinds of supernatural deaths she might endure, until Aden came into her private library room with news from town.

                “Lexa,” he said quietly, respecting the library. “Did you hear what’s going on in town?”

                “No,” mumbled Lexa, reaching for her now frozen cup of tea.

                “They’re going to burn up a witch, they say.”

                The fine china never reached Lexa’s lips. “Pardon?”

                “Apparently there’s a witch, just yonder in the woods. Everyone’s heard of her, and now the whole townsfolk are gathering in the market square. They plan to storm her cabin and take her by force. Some even say she won’t even be given a trial.”

                Lexa put the cup and saucer down carelessly, the tea spilling out all over the Cherrywood end table that was next to her chair.

                “What’s the matter?” Aden asked, surprised by the termination of Lexa’s previously lethargic energy.  “Are you going to join them?”

                “Aden,” she said, her eyes wide, yet not looking at him, “You must stay home, okay? I don’t want you taking part in this.”

                “You’re going to capture the witch?” he repeated again, dismissing her instructions to stay put.

                “No,” Lexa said loudly. She quickly walked down the dimly lit halls of her manor, searching for her traveling kits. Aden followed, the sound of his shoes echoing behind her. He watched silently as Lexa gathered rifle and pistol, slinging a powder horn over her shoulder and equipping a bullet pouch on her belt, right next to her hunting knife. There wasn’t enough time to be as prepared as she wanted to, but at least she had something to defend Clarke with. “You say it’s the entire town?” Lexa finally asked, acknowledging the boy.

                “About so,” Aden replied curiously, as he watched Lexa quickly ponder the numbers in her mind.

                “Have they left yet?”

                “I do not know, but since they were all gathering in the market square, I would assume that would be the best place to start track of them.”

                Lexa briskly walked out of the manor and made it to their small stables, mounting her favorite black steed.

                “Remember, Aden,” Lexa began, getting a good grip on her reins, “do not join these people. Please stay home and protect the family.”

                “But Lexa-”

                Before Aden could continue, Lexa spurred her horse and galloped down the frozen dirt roads. In a bout of young rebellion, Aden equipped himself with his own hunting rifle, picked a beast, and followed stealthily behind.

                Lexa didn’t even have to make it to the market square, because in her horizon of the town, she saw that no one was in sight. They must have already departed. Being familiar with ways to travel to Clarke’s cabin, Lexa took off in hopes of not encountering the mob, but reaching the witch before them.

                Her heart was pounding sickly, as if it was ready to break out of her chest like a bullet exiting the body. Soon the cabin came into sight, hidden poorly by the winter fog. Not even bothering to tie up her horse, Lexa jogged to Clarke’s door, pummeling it with her fist.

                The door opened rather swiftly, and Clarke’s face had transformed from multiple emotions: from curiosity, to faint happiness, and then to stubborn disapproval.

                “Lexa, what have I told you about coming to me? Granted, I’m glad you finally knocked for once, but I don’t see anyone behind your shoulder,” Clarke said, rather dryly.

                “Well you’ll see the whole town soon enough,” Lexa replied hastily, causing Clarke to raise her eyebrow. “They’re coming to kill you. They’re coming now. All of them.”

                Clarke took a step back, her face trying to read Lexa, suspicious and defensive.

                “Trust me. I panicked about losing you. I told everyone I could, and apparently they told everyone else. They’re coming to kill you. You must leave- or do some magic or something,” Lexa stuttered excitedly, trying to explain everything without losing precious time. “Kill them all the way you killed Finn’s opponent.”

                Clarke, while worried, still put her hand on her hip at Lexa’s suggestion. “I killed Finn’s competition with a voodoo doll, I can’t simply make an entire town drop dead. … Not instantly at least. But if what you say is true, there would be no time, even for me to cast a plague. There is nothing I can do.”

                “Then you must leave!” Lexa continued enthusiastically. “Pack your family books and any other provision you need. I will let you ride on my horse with me. We can escape. Let me take you somewhere safe.”

                “There’s no time…” Clarke began.

                “Clarke, no! I will not hear such talk. You either leave now, or fight. I will not have them take you. They will burn you at the stake.”

                “We fight,” Clarke said, she stepped into her cabin and pulled out a rifle of her own. Lexa was surprised that during all the times she visited the witch, she never saw the magnificent weapon.

                “So be it,” Lexa said. “You stay in the cabin, kill anyone who comes in. I will deal with the others. Hopefully I will only have to injure a few for the rest to retreat.”

                Clarke nodded and barricaded herself in her cabin, while Lexa decided to hide prone by a large oak tree. In just a few minutes, she saw the outline of the crowd emerging through the fog. She could see their torches and long rifles first, and then the outline of men. Her goal was to scare them first, killing would not be done unless it had to be. She aimed her musket at a random gentleman and fired a ball into his upper left thigh. The cracking of the gun echoed disturbingly through the woods, like lightning splitting a tree.  

                Getting up quickly, Lexa tried her hand at running to another vantage point and reloading her rifle simultaneously. As she poured powder down the barrel, jumping over large tree roots, she could hear a familiar voice shout among the crowd.

                “There she is! I told you she’d be here! Ms. Lexa, fraternizing with the devil and his servants.”

                Lexa didn’t have to look to know who it was. It was Titus, the tavern keeper.   

                She had finished reloading, and aimed freely this time, striking another man through his bicep. Both injured men were clutching the dead leaves on the ground, trying to stomach the pain.

                “Shoot her! Shoot her!” Titus commanded. Some of the men began to run towards her, and Lexa knew she wouldn’t have the time to reload, so when one got close enough, she pulled out her flintlock pistol and punched a ball through one of the men’s stomach. Flinging the gun aside, as there was no time to reload this one as well, Lexa pulled out her hunting knife. Barring her teeth, full of animal instinct, she wielded the dagger menacingly. One man decided to try her, getting close and aiming his pistol, only for Lexa to send her blade through his forearm, breaking through on the other side.

                His cry of agony shook the souls of many of the other men, and some began to retreat, as Lexa had hoped. As she ripped the blade out of the muscle, the man stumbling away, she began to move to attack another opponent coming at her, but before she even got to swing, the air filled with another sound of lighting, and he dropped dead by her feet. Lexa and the party looked around, trying to find the mysterious sharp shooter.  However, Lexa decided not to get caught up in it and picked up a pistol from one of the wounded men, and began to run to another vantage point- and that’s when she saw him.

                Aden was perched up in a tree, sitting on a sturdy branch, which was protected by the thick main spine of a tree.

                “I told you to stay home!” she hissed, “Don’t kill anyone!”

                “Well they were shooting at you,” he said, his face sporting red patches. He was cold, yet his heart was hot with having killed. “I won’t let them.”

                A man had tackled Lexa to the ground before she could reply further, sending the pistol out of her hand. Gripping her knife once more, she reached over his back and held him down on top of her, using both hands to plunge the knife into his back, puncturing over and over, till the man coughed up blood onto the ground beside her head. She rolled his limp corpse off her and reached for the pistol once more. Lightning struck the air again, as a bullet lodged into the tree next to her and Aden. The boy responded in kind, his rifle now reloaded and resonated the air with his own kill.  

                Many of the men began to retreat, but Lexa still saw Titus in the crowd, disapproval and defeat heavy on his face. Lexa decided to look up at Aden, feeling like victory had been granted.

                “Did anyone see it was you?” she asked the boy.

                “I don’t think so,” he replied, “they all kept looking about.”

                Lexa nodded in approval, yet her relief was short lived, as a fist crashed into her jaw. Stumbling back a few feet due to the force, Lexa saw Titus in front of her, drawing a knife. Lexa charged him head on, shoving her shoulder into his chest to imbalance him. It worked for a quick moment before Titus raised his hand and brought the blade down, slicing her right arm. She groaned at the pain, yet continued fighting, sending a punch to his face, splitting his lip. Taking a quick step forward, he reached for behind her head, and grabbed her hair, pulling hard at her scalp. Up above her, Lexa could hear Aden frantically trying to reload his rifle. She reached one hand behind her head to hold Titus’s hand, the other pressing her fingers into his face, hoping to scratch his eyes. Titus shoved Lexa forward against the tree Aden was in, and lunged forward, plugging his knife into Lexa’s heart.

                In that moment Lexa knew she was dying. She knew, and the worst part was how terrified she felt herself becoming. As if there was a small child in her crying for help, and she knew not how to comfort them. Her brain was slowing in figuring out how to keep attacking Titus, while her body became sick. In a last moment of self-preservation, Lexa’s hands reached up to grab the blade, still held by Titus, and tugged weakly. He ripped the metal out, blood spurting from the open wound and blending into her shirt, and stabbed her again, this time in the stomach. “For good measure,” he said.

                Lexa’s world was fading. Her senses were too ethereal to comprehend, as she watched Titus’s head practically explode before her, the sound of a rifle going off above her ear.  Lexa’s legs finally failed and she slumped down to the base of the tree trunk. Aden slid down like the agile youth he was.

                Trembling, his small hands hovered over her growing wounds, the burgundy blood seeping quickly.

                “My god, Lexa, no!” he cried, tears pooling in his eyes as many of them dropped onto the earth. “Help! Someone help!”

                “Aden…” Lexa’s voice croaked, trying to put together a sentence in her mind, but couldn’t figure out how anymore.

                In the distance she saw the door to Clarke’s cabin open. The witch was watching.

                Before she knew it, Clarke was kneeling at her side, equally concerned.

                “Please,” Aden blubbered to Clarke, “can you help her? Can you save her?”

                Clarke grimaced with disappointment in herself, already feeling like she could do nothing.

                “Please! Please! I’ll do anything, anything! You can fix her right? You’re a witch. Tell her, Lexa!” Aden pleaded over and over, and all Clarke could do was watch Lexa’s eyes become more and more distant.

                “Go ahead,” Lexa said softly, only catching Clarke’s attention as the boy continued to beg. “Make the boy feel better. Pretend you can.”

                Clarke began to tear up too, looking away to hide her sorrow. Lexa’s world began to rapidly darken, and she felt so cold. Colder than the Jersey weather could ever get. She hears a broken conversation. Fragments of it.

                “There is only one price for that kind of thing…”

                “I don’t care… anything…”

                And then she passed. To the next world- the other realm, Lexa did not know. There was nothing. She was dead, and she couldn’t even care. Until she found herself opening her eyes. She was in a bed. Sitting up hesitantly, scared of what this might all mean, she looked around. She was wrapped up in so many linen bandages, with some kind of moss stuck between the layers. There was a massive amount of bizarre black stains everywhere- all over her bandages, parts of her sheets, and a wash basin with bloody rags on a table beside her.

                Alerted by footsteps, Lexa’s heart felt resurrected by the sight of Clarke walking into the room.

                “Oh.” Clarke’s interjection is gentle but full of emotion. A hand goes up to her mouth for a moment and her eyes glisten with happiness. “I’m so glad the spell worked.”

                “Spell?” Lexa muttered, but her confusion was immediately distracted. “Clarke! Your arm!” Clarke looked down to her right arm, which was bandaged as well, some blood seeping through.

                “It is nothing to be concerned about,” Clarke said with a smile, “I am well, and so are you, that’s most important of all.”

                Lexa was quiet for a bit, but then asked, “What happened?”

                “Your boy, Aden, went back to the estate. No one really knew he was helping you, and has inherited the land early, for legal reasons. It’s all confusing to me, but he is well.”

                “That’s not… that’s not really what I was implying,” Lexa said anxiously. “Clarke… did I die?”

                Clarke’s lips became thin for a second. “Yes. You did.”

                “Then how am I…?”

                Clarke sighed and sat down on a chair she pulled next to Lexa’s bedside. “Aden wanted to serve as the person you brought to my door. You are free from debt…that debt at least.” Lexa’s heart dropped. “His wish was for you to not die. I couldn’t use magic in time, since you passed, so the next best thing was… necromancy.”

                “What do you mean by _that debt_?”

                “I am not a master at my craft, despite my reputation,” Clarke explained, “If I had been able to save you before you died, you would have been completely free from everything. You would never owe me, or should see me ever again for the rest of your life. However, since you died so quickly, the only way I could perform necromancy was… it’s a damning way. I am so sorry.”

                “I don’t follow.”

                “Your blood. In order to bring you back, I had to use dark forces. It was the only way. It corrupted your body, so you will forever live with its darkness inside you. It is what’s keeping you alive. I tried to counter it by infusing my blood with yours, but any I gave you always mutated to black. And this dark magic that I used, it specifies that any being raised from the dead can only live to serve the one who brought them back. It is their purpose.”

                Lexa let all this sink in, her mind spinning as she learned one of the many sides of magic in her world. “So I am to be your _thrall_ , so to speak?”

                “Yes. But I promise a life of servitude with me will not be unpleasant. I feel like I took your life away from you by trying to give it back. You must never leave my side or my doings. But there is one bright side, I guess. Every year, on the anniversary of your resurrection, you are allowed to go and do as you please, you just simply must return to me by midnight. You can use these days to see Aden, if you wish.”

                “What is his payment?”

                “That is between me and him, but trust me, he will do fine.”

                Lexa got up from her bed, feeling a sense of vigor come over her. “Thank you, Clarke, for saving me.” Clarke got up from the chair to be on the same level with her, searching her eyes for honesty. “I mean it. I would not mind a lifetime with you.” Lexa smiled softly and almost in a silly manner, making Clarke chuckle lightly.

                “Of course, you would say that. You’re in love with me still.”

                “Yes, I am,” Lexa confirmed, in a matter-of-fact tone. She reached for Clarke’s hand and kissed it with charm. “I’m in love with a witch. What do you require of me, my love?”

                Clarke took a deep breath as Lexa lowered her hand, but Lexa could tell that she was not overwhelmed with anger like before. “Protect me. Like you did that day. Wherever we go, whenever someone is on their way to see me, keep me safe?”

                “Always.”

                “And Lexa?”

                “Yes?”

                 “I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

                As the years went on, the war peaked and independence was won. Throughout this time, legend of a witch and her champion crossed camps and newfound states. A beautiful blonde witch, capable of all kinds of magic, and a rider dressed in all black that even _bled_ black, escorting people to and from, ready to strike down should they hurt her lover, the witch. Many have come by, seeking riches, love, and revenge, all granted with terrible or humorous prices.

                If you ask to see the witch, all you must do is walk alone in the woods when word of her is around. Think of her. Soon enough, you’ll hear the puffing of a horse, breathing deep and agitated. The rider will appear to you, no doubt straight out of hell, her face hidden by a dark, thin linen hood, waiting for you to walk ahead of her. She does not speak, but she watches you. Every move you make. Even as you walk in front of her, you can feel her eyes on you. Her hand on a weapon hidden under her cloak. You walk forward, for what feels like hours as the hairs on the back of your neck stand erect and cold sweat creeps down your body.

                To her lover, you go.

                To the witch, you go.

               

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that I know in reality witchcraft isn't how its portrayed in this story. I went off of "hollywood" witchcraft here, and understand that there are many people who follow its many branches in real life. I respect what you do and wanted you to know, that if one of you is reading this story, I know you guys are more than these stereotypes and have respectable practices. Carry on! :)
> 
> Also, comments give me love! Keep me alive! They're like heat to my lizard that sunbathes under a heat lamp lol


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